The Cowards
by T.S. Hemings
Summary: All or nothing, I suppose?  Not deciding *is* deciding... Post-Loyalty one-shot.  B/A from Alex POV.


**The Cowards**

By T.S. Hemmings

a/n: Set post-Loyalty. Alex and Bobby story, with POV from Alex. One-shot piece. Still kind of a pansy at writing FF, so be gentle with me! ;) Obviously, the character's don't belong to me, etc, etc.

* * *

I couldn't tell if I had done what I thought I'd done. Had I saw him sitting there in the chair? His face was mere inches from mine, his breath hot on my cheek. I had seen him in his chair, barely lit by his one old man's reading lamp. The walls of his apartment were deep, dark browns that swallowed any light source that dared to shine. But I could see him there though, highlighted in the darkness. He was in his surroundings, he should have been more at ease. When he looked at me, I could tell he was anything but; and it was all my fault. He still sat there and stared at me with those dark but still energetic eyes. His palms grasped the ends of the hand rest, showing his anxiety at my presence. I felt it too of course, knowing I had no idea either about what was between us.

But then there I was, his face now centimeters away from mine as I palmed his cheek in my hands. This is what struck me. I didn't care that I was now in his lap, I cared that I was this close to him. We were sharing the same space, the same breath. We shared the same confined molecular space of atoms but it all felt under my skin. As the tension grew, our breaths grew heavier and intoxicated the air. My thumbs brushed under the top of his cheekbones as I stared at him in wonder. I had no idea what to do next. Friends don't do this sort of thing. Friends go to movies, friends go to parties, but we did none of those things either. We were the sort that had talked for hours while we lived separate lives. We had been a haven for every other part of our life we couldn't control. And now here we were, driven to a new place by something we didn't know. We were smashed together with no idea how we got here. It made us both desperate.

I didn't dare move my head, should it break the spell we were under. I moved my eyes to his; mine strained to find focus in the close proximity. He looked back, also not moving his head. My attention now distracted by him, his tongue sputtered over his lips like he wanted to say something. But he didn't. And I couldn't blame him because neither did I.

I pressed my thumbs harder into his cheeks, proving to myself he was still there. He huffed out a breath, making him all the more real.

I looked at him and his imperfections and I hoped he could see mine. I wanted no pretensions, no delusions about who I was and who I wanted us to be.

"Me too," his eyes said. I still wasn't sure what was going on but it felt important. It felt like I had to be the best, most honest version of myself that I had ever been. I was in his lap, holding his face and yet more vulnerable than ever.

I could do the girl thing and look away; shy into his shoulder and avoid his focused gaze. I couldn't do it though. If I told the story to a friend, I would have joked and said it was pride that made me stare back at him. I would say that I couldn't let myself be that girly. That's not me. I'm the rationalizer, right? Always the voice of reason, never the bride. And I already had a punch line for it.

I kept his gaze and looked straight back at him.

I sat back slightly and I felt his arms tighten around my body. I hadn't even realized he had moved them off the armrests. His palms now gripped my body, ensuring I wasn't moving too far. I couldn't bring myself to remove my hands from his face, but I still needed a momentary distance.

"Don't go far," his face said.

I shook my head in response, as if he had said something ridiculous. I cupped his cheeks harder, showing my intent to stay right where I was.

His eager hands had moved to my waist, slipping into the loops with his fingers doubled up. He made the move so effortlessly, but it had its desired effect on me. It was so simple yet so right on the money that it took all of me to hold back the whimper that ached to roll off my lips. My thumbs pressed involuntarily into his cheek, belying my attempt at coolness. He looked at me almost in surprise, as if he hadn't expected anything to happen. Then he smiled and I knew it was what he had wanted to happen.

Feeling too naked, I pushed my forehead into his chest so I could catch my breath. Everything suddenly felt rushed, though it hardly was. He had stalled all movement, curious as to what would happen next. "No more moves?" I thought sarcastically. No wonder it took us so long to get "here." I could feel my taught emotions begin to slack, letting thought back into my brain. I felt silly for being so worked up. We hadn't even kissed and my brain had gone into overdrive. Over-thinking and over-reacting brought me to a standstill and I was all out of steam.

"It's you," I told his face, still cradled in my hands. Then his eyes… "It's you. It's you and I don't know why."

"I don't know why either," he said in his patented stutter. "I can't explain it. I'd say I had no idea but something has always been there. Always been here."

Our timing felt off, we got here too soon. The idea of "too soon" felt like a joke but it was the most honest thought we could muster. Nothing would be right if we went this way. He was off to one destination and I another. It was too soon for anything like this, we were too old and too set in our ways. We could wrap ourselves in the self-satisfaction that at least we knew it. We could see it in each other. We saw it in that moment. two smart people like us had to see it, right? We could always rationalize our way out of anything.

I balled up my fists in resistance, as I put them into his pants pockets. Using the leverage to pull forward, the momentum brought me directly to his chest. I could smell him better from here. He smelled of suede and linen, vanilla and a rich bergamot. He was as rich in scent as he was in conversation, and just as complicated. This is how I wanted to remember him.

He wasn't dying and he wasn't even leaving the country. All the same, he was still going away. Once he was gone, we would change. We would be apart and living our own newly plotted out lives. "Different ends of the map, in more ways than one," we would joke. We could still be friends, keep in contact every year but any more would be more than necessary. Any more than that, it would be weird, or at least it would be for us. It was like leaving home for college and never being able to recreate what it felt or what it meant to call a place home.

And that's what he was. For so many years, in ways he probably never knew, he was home to me.

I sighed deeply and I knew I had to step back now or give up all hope. I gathered myself to lean back and away but his hand in my hair stopped me. His left hand palmed my head, holding it still where it was. We sat there, imprinting the moment for as long as we could.

"My kind's your kind" he said deeply into my ear. He repeated it until I believed it.

I could hear the farewell party getting louder outside. No doubt some oblivious girlfriend of mine would come busting through, looking for us. It could be my best friend and she would still be completely oblivious. It wouldn't be her fault; he and I had a penchant for playing everything close to the chest. It is always easier , we figured, and more amusing to just be considered weird.

My hands rested palms out on his chest. I wondered if subconsciously I was telling him to stop coming closer or stop leaving. I wanted both and hated myself for the irrationality of it all. In reality he wasn't moving at all. He simply looked at me, waiting for me to give some sort of high sign. Knowing I was no bastion of wisdom, I got off his lap quickly, trying to hold onto some sort of grace.

As I recovered my bearings, I noticed he was still watching me. He had moved towards me quickly as he followed me out of the chair. His eyes held a lot of questions and a desperation for answers; they reflected my own. We stood by the door, dragging the situation out. He wanted me to be the strong one, strong for him, strong for us. I had always been that for him and he could trust that.

I had no more strength to give. I couldn't be the one to say "yes" or "no," he had to be the one to lead. "Give me just this one thing," I thought"- this one fucking thing- and I can do this forever." We were both just too weak, we barely had anything to give.

What we sought couldn't be found, no matter how much we ached for it, especially in that moment. I didn't know what else to do so I smiled at him. I always laugh, giggle, or act inappropriately, especially when I have to be serious; especially when I am at a loss for anything else.

He smiled back just because he knew this. He smiled because he knew it was easier on me. We smiled but didn't hold hands as we made our way back to the party outside. He waved to me as he left his own party and no one was the wiser. His shadow left after him, it being the last of him I would ever see again

I saw him around a few times but it was as we expected and dreaded; far from the same. "At least it wasn't a surprise" I would joke. "Hey, I'm still the same," he would respond seriously, then wink knowing I knew better. Laughter would follow because pretending was what we did best. We could always, at least, have that; that thought alone would make us smile.

And on cool nights like this, nights just like that night, I can sit back and remember. I remember a school girl-like crush and making life-altering, adult decisions. Mostly it's memories of nostrils filled with a rich, rich bergamot.

* * *

a/n deuces: I also don't own the music (if you notice it) or that great line "Don't go far..." It's from a ff I loved, but now can't remember :(


End file.
